A Field Trip

Industry, thrift and self-control are not sought because they create wealth, but because they create character.

Calvin Coolidge

He that would be superior to external influences must first become superior to his own passions.


~Samuel Johnson

The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence, but in the mastery, of his passions.

- Lord Alfred Tennyson

He who reigns within himself and rules his passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.

- John Milton

Waiting is one of the great arts.

- Margery Allingham

Life becomes easier when you learn to accept an apology you never got.  

                                                                                                                           ~Robert Brault

The strong man is the one who is able to intercept at will the communication between the senses and the mind.

- Napoleon Bonaparte

He who conquers others is strong; he who conquers himself is mighty.

- Lao-Tzu

Dad assigned the task, picking sticks, I suspect, mainly with the intention of warding off any lack of work ethic we might hint at developing.  Since we moaned, groaned and complained often and loudly, he just kept clearing land.

Mom persuaded us out the door more gently, albeit firmly, with new cowboy boots and hats and long sleeved shirts tucked into our jeans to protect us from sunburn, with a kind of unrelenting impetus. Along with numerous reminders that we needed to get started as soon as possible before the day got any hotter.  And don't forget our water.

Reluctant and grumbling, we gathered up our gloves and water jugs for the trek to the field.  After several of these jaunts, I began to see a pattern, dreading most the first round of stick-picking - where the roots and branches were scattered abundantly before us.  Dad had started clearing a new field, and this one, he had  said as we finished breakfast, trying to prepare us for the work ahead, had been especially root-bound.  No kidding, a daunting task.  My eyes widened as I gulped and took in the sight before me.  

By then I was a veteran, but this field got my attention.  Working together, mainly with my sister three years my junior, we tugged the jagged tree roots from the dry, dusty earth and flung them through the air.  They landed  with a satisfying thunk on the slash pile Dad had been building with the D-6 Caterpillar.  Repeating this action time after time, we worked our way down the field, covering ground steadily.  As the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, we removed our hats, wiped away the sweat and paused for a drink, letting the light breeze cool our hair for a moment.  Returning to our work immediately, we paced ourselves, not too fast, not too slow, moving the tractor and attached trailer with our load, along as we went. 

In my teens, I understood somehow that this was my job, my responsibility to see it through and present to Dad a clean field at the end of the morning.  Moving our way back and forth, sometimes closer to the stack, then moving farther back, we bent, grabbed and threw sticks rhythmically until we reached the end of the field.  Hot, dusty and ready for lunch, we climbed on the Honda 90 and headed back to the house.  There would be no doubt if the job was done to satisfaction.  Dad only had to complain once.  His generously given praise was the best incentive, better even than the paycheck we would receive for our morning's work.  He was proud of our work, and wouldn't accept less than our best.

Despite the high praise Dad dished out, we continued our hearty complaining, perhaps because it seemed we were the only kids around who had to work.  For all the good it did us.  One day, one of our parents' friends decided to come help us for the morning to see what the fuss was all about.  Couldn't be that bad, she declared, and she was going to find out for herself.  She spent the morning with us.  Once.  And never said another word.  It was nice to have the help, anyway. 

We knew Dad would go over the field again with the Cat, and bring up more roots.  And again.  The soil on the farm was sandy in some areas, some summers were drier, hotter.  Bending, picking, throwing - the bigger pieces would twirl like uneven helicopter blades swishing through the air.  Our friends were welcome to come spend the weekend with us.  Under one condition.  We had to tell them that we would be picking sticks and they would be expected to help us.  Seems our friends began to find other times to visit.

I think he even bought adjoining land and cleared some more.  At last it was done, the fields were planted with grain, with hay, and we moved on.  Winter chores were few so we inner-tubed, trying out our snowy hills, then the neighbors'.  After driving the pickup with hay while dad fed the cattle, we went ice fishing and ice skating and had friends over for bonfires, cocoa and games.  When spring came, we cleaned the barns where cattle had wintered and calved.  Then branding day arrived, we ran errands and chutes, but never got brave enough to give shots or do the castrating.  We chased the cows, fixed the fences so they wouldn't get out again, weeded the garden, painted one thing or another, and swept the shop.  

I felt like the teenage queen of fitness; strong, healthy, hungry and thirsty, until I heard the stories of the legends.  My five aunts, when they were girls at home, helped Grandpa cut timber with a cross cut saw, carried water, milked cows, helped with haying, and dug a mile of water line to save their water rights from being taken away.  They had the bulging muscles when it wasn't popular for girls to have them, to show for it, and stories of beating other kids in races on the playground and in the classroom.  There were the stories of my dad who drove loads of logs to school when he was ten years old.  They added water to the stew when company came for supper.  The pigs all died when they got into treated grain, and when Grandpa had to go to the hospital after the accident when the drunk driver crossed the road and hit his wagon of milk in the darkness, Grandma wouldn't accept help for expenses because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to repay them.

And I wonder.  Complain?  Me?  Yes, I did.  And not too proud of it.  Think, my friends.  This is a lot to live up to, in my opinion.  So now, I'm thankful for hot, dusty days in the fields learning the values Dad had about working.  But more than that, I'm thankful that I could turn around and see the effect of what we did, the difference we made in a field that had been marred with jagged pieces of trees and branches, now a smooth surface, marked only by our footprints, ready to be turned again, deeper, this time. That is what we learned, what we earned.  The sense of accomplishment.  Along with the dust, we tasted results.  The spring was perfect, crystal clear, and refreshing.

There is little that can withstand a man who can conquer himself.

- Louis XIV

Discipline is the rejection of instant gratification in favor of something better and higher.

It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"

Winnie the Pooh

Pooh's Little Instruction Book

Self-command is the main elegance.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Grilled Vegetables

Feasting is the physician's harvest.

Malayan Proverb

Defying Description

Learn to... be what you are, and learn to resign with a good grace all that you are not.

Henri Frederic Amiel

“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.” 

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Traffic Jam

Too often travel, instead of broadening the mind, 

merely lengthens the conversation.  

~Elizabeth Drew

I take a simple view of life: keep your eyes open and get on with it.

Laurence Olivier

Rainy Day in Chandler

As in nature, as in art, so in grace; it is rough treatment that gives souls, as well as stones, their luster.

Thomas Guthrie

Inner beauty, too, needs occasionally to be told it is beautiful.  ~Robert Brault

The Plot

 Some little truth I wish

And seek in depths abiding

A profoundly buried answer

In everlasting hiding.

Perhaps in quiet moment

I could gain in plain reflection

That simply given knowledge gift,

 The guide which shows perfection.

Together Mother Nature

Combined perhaps a lot

With Mr. Circumstance and

Contrived this mixed up little plot.

Bad luck, a snare it was 

I could even think to say,

Refusing unwisely to go cheerily

About my merry way.

Insistently my plan was foiled

A fatal trap was set,

And caught so unwarily,

I firmly said, "Not that!"

Then announcing freedom

A  little voice instead

In ultimate betrayal

Agreed and bowed its head.

Buzzard's Roost- *count'em. 

“It can hardly be a coincidence 
that no language on earth has 
ever produced the expression,
'As pretty as an airport.” 


― Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

My Decorator, My Adviser

I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them. 

~Mark Twain

Buzzards:*(nine)

Thanks For Giving

Sensing

Water under the bridge

And not a cloud in the sky

And yet, my heart seems

Too heavy to cry.

This road I have walked

Always strong to appear

Yet knowing inside

I just hid a tear.

Surprising how cruel

Who say they are friends

Their wounding so deep

Like thistles and thorns.

Forgive, they expect,

So easy to say

But I wonder what next

Must be carried away.

Stop fighting the sorrow

Admit that it’s there

Embracing the hurt,

The moment to bear.

Then lifting my head

Could ever there be

Beauty surrounding

More abundant to see?

Cool and brisk, 

The seasonal air,

Gathers crispy orange leaves 

To brighten Autumn so fair. 

An early bird song trills

On soft morning breeze.

Robin’s breakfast is served 

With the greatest of ease.

When Indian summer

Slows Autumn’s last gift,

And snowflakes melt and blend

As they drift,

Through Dawn's early mist,

This newborn day

Like every fresh morning

Has music to play.

Someone above

Knows these wounds that we bear

And sends to mere mortals

Such beauty and care.

Bill Cody - Hard and Fast All the Way by Peter Fillerup

Pay no attention to what the

critics say.  A statue has never been erected in honor of a critic. ~Jean Sibelius

Quick and Really Easy Dinner: 1 Pkg of Ravioli from the Refrigerator Section at the grocery store, a generous portion of
Asparagus, sauteed, stir in fried bite sized bacon pieces, and a few halved yellow cherry tomatoes.
Add the seasoning packet, gently mix, and serve.  

The Scout
 by Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney 

Don't be distracted by criticism.  Remember - the only taste of success some people have is when they take a bite out of you.  

~Zig Ziglar

Success comes in cans, not cant's.  ~Author Unknown

Mom used to say that we needed to walk to the school bus.  Other kids got rides, and it seemed much more “cool” to be delivered to the bus stop in a car, somehow more elite.  But Mom was insistent.  The exercise, the fresh air, was good for us, she declared as often as necessary.  I finally stopped asking, more or less.  So off we went in almost any weather, although a few times, in a near blizzard she would offer to drive us or at the very least, to my dismay, insist we put pants on under our dresses, and off we would go, barely able to move in all the snow clothes: socks, boots, snowpants, gloves, hats, scarves around our faces.  How embarrassing. Well, some of that was for playing in the snow.   But there was no argument once Mom had made up her mind.  It was a half mile walk, which turned into one of the best things in my life.  The sweet and quiet interlude between what happened at school and what would happen at home.  Home was pleasant without a doubt.  Chores, some homework, supper, quiet times to read.  The evening went so fast!

But the walk home was surreal in splendor.  The trees whispered in a slight breeze.  Birds sang and shadows cooled us on hot autumn afternoons as we moved from one group of trees to the next, with the heat of the sun baking us between them.  Occasionally we would take our bikes and hide them carefully in the tall grass on the side of the lane, and searched for them a little breathlessly, hoping they hadn’t been discovered and taken while we were at school. 

Sometimes we would walk together, slowly carrying our books and talking.  It wasn’t long, after we got into the upper grades when I thought carefully about which books I would bring home, because they were getting heavier and harder to carry if we took more than a couple of them. 

I liked to run.  Especially in the spring and sometimes in the fall, when it was getting dark quickly and the leaves were crunchy and the air was crisp.  Although my sister cried about it, because she couldn't run fast, especially when we were littler, I could hardly resist running home.  The pure fresh air beckoned.  A quick run and I would be home. And when I needed to run, dear me, how disappointing if she cried and I felt I had to wait for her.  A few times I ran home despite her heartbroken cries.  Well, I sure felt guilty when I did, too!  Then our other sister started school, so they could walk together while I ran.  Still feeling a bit guilty, it meant that they grew closer to each other on those walks side by side.  I was missing out on that sisterly closeness, but I just had to choose.  After sitting all day, it was so hard to not run, and their steps were slow.  Oh, the battle inside.  What to do.   My sister has issues to this day, haunted by being left behind to walk through shadows alone.  Scars of my creation have had their effect on how she thinks.  Not a real big deal, she says.  It’s been buried away and she doesn’t think about it much, or at all, and doesn't want it to grieve me. 

Being kind and patient is something we will never regret. There is no need to add to someone’s sorrow.  Usually life has plenty of burdens to pass around without needing assistance.  My runs at that time of the day were more about being efficient; getting home and getting exercise at the same time.  What I needed to understand was sacrifice.  I was thinking of efficiency; maybe a more fitting word was impatience.  As humans we get good at carefully masking our true nature with a word that doesn’t condemn us, softens the truth a little, to be easier on ourselves.  Disguising the appearance, being slightly dishonest about our motives, does not change how our words or actions made someone feel. 

I could have walked with my sisters, and when I got home, put down my books, changed my shoes, and gone out running alone, if I really wanted to run.  If I was serious about running, that is what I could have done, and no one would have been hurt.  Sure a few times, my plans would have been changed before I could have gone running, but more often it would have happened, and especially if that was something people expected me to do, a pattern. 

I would have become a true runner, like Mindy who ran yesterday in Mesa in 108 degree heat and was surprised to learn it was that hot, who is a dedicated runner, so she runs when it doesn't interfere with other things, gets up early to do it.  It would have been better and I would be happy to be a dedicated runner.  How is it that I think rushing through life is going to get me what I want?  

What we all want is to be the best person we can be, a person that we and others can truly respect, honor and think well of, and not someone who simply appears to be that well-thought-of person.  This person who knows me best of all is me, whose opinion matters most, while temporarily pacified by platitudes, is not even a little fooled by fancy words of self-justification in the long run.    All of life’s experiences surround me with opportunities to help me learn to be that real person.  There will be grades, and tests, and I'll have to study. There is a saying:  When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.   Along the way, I am finding that my path crosses with some amazing people, caring friends, thoughtful, supportive, great teachers.  I am deeply grateful.  

Dusk

We probably wouldn't worry 

about what people think of 

us if we could know how 

seldom they do.  

~Olin Miller

 Always hold your head up, but be careful to keep your nose at a friendly level. 

~Max L. Forman

If we all did the things we are capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves.  

~Thomas Alva Edison